


Don't Dwell On It

by Hambone



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Capture, Emotional Trauma, M/M, Panic Attacks, Serious Injuries, possible death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-05 12:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1818718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short collection of sad stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Short Trip

**Author's Note:**

> Done for a challenge on tumblr.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyclonus/Tailgate

It wasn’t too late. It couldn’t be. He had learned, in their short time together, that loopholes were not myths, that the last second was always available.

He had also learned to expect the worst, which was why he had felt so stupid when he’d received the call. Much of the away-team had gone to a completely different planet, a different objective in mind. The smaller crew were simply sightseeing. Supposed to be, at least. 

At first it was very hard to hear, lots of static, banging and shouting. Hoist calling for someone to help him re-spark his blow torch. Trapped, they were trapped. Something was leaking, potential nanite infection. Nobody was very coherent, frightened.

The signal improved as Cyclonus boarded the second to last drop ship, against the advisement of everyone within range. Nobody really tried to stop him. Nobody had the authority; Ultra Magnus and Rodimus on the other planet, the other mission, oblivious.

Still, the clarity of the voices on the other end declined as he approached the site, the blue surface of the planet swelling, dark and turbulent before his viewscreen. Hoist’s vocalizer was shorting out, but thankfully he had a surrogate. That tiny voice was all that filled Cyclonus’s helm, guiding him. An infection, delirium. The time they anticipated full system shut down blinked like dead eyes at him from his dashboard, flickering slowly down as Tailgate’s tone drooped.

"It’s not too bad, I think, because I…" he paused, trying so hard to find the words.

"Because I don’t…I don’t feel…anything…"

Too soon, too cruel. Cyclonus could not bring himself to respond.

"I don’t remember…what’s happening…"

Tailgate coughed through the feed, visceral and wet.

"How much…how much time do we…"

"Enough."

Cyclonus did not look at the monitor.

"That’s good."

A soft sigh followed, static breathing thick and heavy as his consciousness dimmed.

"I’m really scared."

"You are very brave."

The timer beeped, indicating something. Still, Cyclonus did not look.

"I don’t feel very…you are coming, right?"

"Of course."

Another beep, high and shrill. Cyclonus wanted to turn it off but could not pry his hands from the controls. Before him the grey speck of the facility roof grew, shining a reflection of the distant stars. He was almost there.

"Please," and he was so weak now, "please come get me."

The monitor squealed.

"I’m coming."

There was no response.


	2. Padlock Courtship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarn/Pharma

He could never have expected any other outcome, and so he didn’t. Not to say he was a particularly imaginative person in the first place. Brilliant, yes, inventive when needed, but not a creative type. It was something he used to boast about, turning his nose up at First Aid as he read, Ambulon trying to find the right colors to cover his shame. As if he would be caught greying wasting his time on something as pointless. He _saved lives_.

Not anymore, though. Now, he only grasped for his own.

"You never exert yourself in our games, anymore."

He refused to react, gaze holding steady at his feet.

"Why is that, _Pharma_?”

The tone struck chords deep inside his laser core and he could not refuse the jump it caused, but still he would not look up.

"Because I have no reason to play them anymore. You of all people should know that."

His vocaliser was still capable of carrying venom, but the impact was lost in his weak rasp, small and dirty as he was. Tarn’s blocky shadow moved forward to engulf the doorway.

"Do not imply that I mean to play the fool. You still have much to dance for, _Pharma_ , and yet here you sit. Do you care so little for your own frame, now that _he_ has left you vulnerable?”

It stung as intended.

"My hands were not my only pride. I simply recognize my position to it’s fullest capacity."

He raised himself slightly, as if the defensive curl he had begun to bloom from was not so obvious, that he was not the loser here.

"I suppose you expected me to just wilt in grief like the others you keep?"

"I do not simply refer to your hands, dexterous as they were. You lost something else, the fire that kept you burning."

It was poetic nonsense. Pharma could not abide it.

"What do you want, Tarn?"

"You do not wonder why you have remained unharmed?"

Rolling himself through a long-suffering sigh, Pharma bit the bait.

"Why."

"Because I want something else from you."

It was not as though the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. He was a talented, beautiful person. Tarn, while too obsessed with the traditional values of his kind to surround himself with affluence, could not resist his petty pleasures. Pharma knew that all too well.

Still, it seemed too base a way to go out, pinned beneath some filthy tank. How droll.

"I’d prefer the torture."

Tarn moved further into the room, kneeling beside him. It was unexpected for the leader of the DJD to lower himself this way, and Pharma had to bite back the groan of annoyance at how theatrical this entire relationship had been, how overdone and dusted it was. Ridiculous, pointless fluff.

"You misunderstand, _Pharma_. I do not ask for you as a berth warmer. I desire… _more_ from our partnership. You understand that, don’t you, _Pharma_?”

A surge of anger rose in his chest, as if the mere notion of romance offended him.

"You don’t seriously think that I would agree to that, do you?"

Apparently he had.

"You find my proposition unpleasant?"

"Unpleasant? The fact that you even asked is, it’s laughable!"

Pushing himself up with the help of the wall, knobled, broken wrist scraping ugly streaks of paint along the metal, Pharma actually did laugh, long and loud.

"You think that I found any part of our trades enjoyable? That I’d find myself, an outstanding member of my own cause, attracted to you?"

The smile dropped off his face.

"Leave me alone. I’d rather rust in here than out there with you."

Tarn watched him, unreadable as always, but the way his scarred lips parted slowly behind his mast spoke of emotion deeper than Pharma ever cared to fathom.

"You will reconsider soon."

"Are you deaf? Leave me be."

He was angry. They both were. Pharma entertained the fleeting hope that he may goad Tarn into simply ending it then. The Decepticon rose, hands flexing at his sides.

"You _will_ reconsider.”

Almost laughing again, Pharma tried to wipe the condensation from his brow, forgetting, momentarily, his handicap.

"Primus…"

"We will work something out, eventually, and you will realize my potential. _Our_ potential. And until you do, _Pharma_ , you will not leave this room. You will not _rest,_ you will not _eat,_ you will not _die_. You will reconsider.”

Shaking with disgust, with rage, Pharma spat at him.

“ _Leave me alone_!”

But he never would.


	3. Accidents Happen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fulcrum/Misfire

It had happened so fast.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck!”

He could hear Fulcrum panicking, but he couldn’t see him. Or perhaps he could. It was really difficult to tell with all of those colors in the way.

"Misfire, come on, you need to-!"

Ha! He didn’t need to do anything. He was fine right here, right in this lovely warmth, with Fulcrum’s shrill voice in his receptor. Needs were for the weak, and he was definitely not weak. That was why he had taken the chance in the first place, though it felt like eons ago at this point.

He laughed.

Come on, you roob, it’s alright.

Somehow, though, his words didn’t leave his mouth, and Fulcrum still worried somewhere beyond the wall of shadows dancing above him. 

"We need to, we need to get you out of here, onto the ship, we need - where’s Krok?"

So nervous, like a little fluttering animal. You’d think a bot who had stared death in the face twice now would have more bite behind his bark, but Fulcrum hardly had a bark to begin with. He wanted to reach up and pet his jittery friend, but his arm wouldn’t move. Probably because it was lying somewhere across the room, along with the rest of his left half. He was fine enough with just one, though, wasn’t he?

Still got a spike for you, loser, don’t worry!

Although he wasn’t really sure he did. He wasn’t really sure if anything below the neck had survived the blast, honestly. He didn’t care though, because Fulcrum was fine and it hadn’t really hurt. Or maybe it had. It certainly didn’t now.

It had just been an old refinery. They had expected it to have some traps, obviously, because there was a big fat Decepticon Elite symbol sprayed all over the outside and about half the insides as well, but nothing like that. They really needed the fuel, though, and the grub, and it looked like it was full of little nooks and crannys that would give him enough privacy to explore Fulcrum’s own little nooks and crannys. They did this on a weekly basis these days. Routine exploration nonsense.

"Fuck, Primus, I can’t - I can’t stop the bleeding, I, I wasn’t trained for…"

Misfire just wanted the shaking in Fulcrum’s voice to stop. If it weren’t for that, this moment would be so still, so calm. He needed to relax. They were always telling him that, even that big tin-can Grimlock, though less in words than in actions. If he would just slow down now, stop the babbling and just lay here next to him, in the wonderful warmth, things would be fine. Better than fine, even. Perfect.

"I don’t, I don’t know what I’m doing, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, fuck, fuck…"

Come on, Fulcrum. Just come here, where I can see you.

"Oh Primus, oh Primus, oh Primus-!"

That uptight attitude was one of the things that made him so great, though. He was such a bundle. When they got out of this, he was going to give him one hell of a time for falling apart so easily.

First, though, he was just going to allow himself to stretch out, as he felt the increasing urge to do, and let every sensor in his body flow down through the floor beneath him. The warmth was increasing, but not uncomfortably so, like a good oil bath. Sticky, hot heat, the kind he felt after a good long shag, joshingly grinding his knuckles into Fulcrum’s helm as he slowly drifted towards recharge.

"Misfire I don’t know what to do, please don’t do this, please, fuck, oh Primus fuck!"

You don’t have to get all teary-eyed.

He smiled into the void.

Nerd.


	4. Responsibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodimus/Drift

"I don’t know, okay? I just, I don’t know!"

He stomped around the desk, moving data pads around without aim because he needed something to steady his hands. Drift shifted uncomfortably but Ultra Magnus stood his ground, an insurmountable wall.

"Well, you had better figure it out. I’m not here to clean up your messes, Rodimus. You have a responsibility towards these people and you need to shape up and face it."

He waved a thick finger like a weapon in the air and Rodimus visibly flinched. He bounced back fast though, bracing himself on the desk to shout.

"You think I don’t know that! You think I think this is, this is a game or something!"

Unphased, Ultra Magnus deepened his frown.

"Maybe when you stop treating it like one I’ll believe it."

And then he left. Drift knew what to expect but he still flinched when Rodimus threw his hand-laser at the door, then a data pad, then another. By the fourth he was at the desk, holding his hands up gingerly.

"Rodimus…"

"Shut up, Drift, I know already."

Rodimus dropped the next file he had aimed to throw, but took up kicking the desk in its place.

"I know I messed up. I know. You don’t need to tell me, he doesn’t need to tell me - I get it!”

He gestured wildly and Drift almost was forced to step back out of the range of his sweeping fists. Rodimus wasn’t attacking him, though. He was attacking himself.

"That’s not what I was going to say."

"Yes it is! You don’t have to be all coy and spiritual about it, I know you know it’s true!"

He turned to the window, then turned back, vents heaving.

"People are dead, more people, people I cared about! And you all think I think this is, this is like some slagging joyride! I know that I’m not, not the best at keeping it on it’s path and I’m not the best at doing the right thing when I’m supposed to but I get that at least, okay?”

He was pacing, frantically, and only too late did Drift realize that he was working his way into hysteria.

"I mean, Primus, I know I’m not Optimus Prime, okay, I know I’m not the best I could be at this, that I’m not, slag, always trying my hardest, that this isn’t what I wanted it to be at all but I-!"

"Shh…" Drift tried to approach him, "come here."

Rodimus pushed him away the moment he reached out.

"Drift don’t- don’t fragging touch me, okay? Stop, I don’t want…"

His fans screeched on high, and he suddenly crouched down, bracing himself on the edge of his chair. Alarmed, Drift followed, keeping his distance as instructed.

"Rodimus I’m just trying to-!"

"I don’t want your pity, Drift!"

Looking away, Rodimus panted.

"Primus, that’s worse than anything. Don’t do that, don’t act like that’s what I need right now, not from you of all people…”

That hurt, but he knew it was true. Static pops of color were spitting from the corners of Rodimus’s optics, even as he squeezed them shut, vents opening in painful wheezes.

"Look at me."

Rodimus shook his head, knuckles creaking as the chair began to buckle under his grasp.

"No…"

Mustering his strength, Drift reached out and grabbed him. Surprisingly, Rodimus did not fight it, but he didn’t make it easy either, opening his mouth as he gasped for air.

"Look at me, Rodimus - just breathe, okay?"

"Shut up, Drift!"

But he was already leaning into the touch, and all at once they collapsed together, Rodimus inside the warm cave of Drift’s arms and neck and chest. He clutched at him like a lifeline and Drift squeezed back equally hard, acutely aware of the uncontrollable vibrations in his captain’s plating. For a minute the only sound in the room was Rodimus’s, the raw fear escaping in not-quite sobs as they rocked together.

It was not the first time this had happened, and it would not be the last. Drift had seen many mechs break down in his life, pleading for theirs, but violence from the outside was easy to understand. The kind of violence Rodimus brutally prescribed himself to was something entirely different, and he did not even know where to begin to heal this wound.

For now, though, they swayed together, the rapid pulse of Rodimus’s spark steadying in his arms, and while it was far from a solution, it would do.


	5. Proving Grounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drift/Rodimus

He didn’t have to do it, he knew that. He could have just as easily proved himself with his calm center and his wise words, but he was feeling less wise and less calm by the solar cycle out here and he needed, desperately, to show Rodimus that he was still a valid member of the team.

Defeat would not have stung so hard if Rodimus had tried to stop him, if he had put on his slightly less wild smirk and rested a firm hand on Drift’s shoulder, “not today, I think”. Instead, he had slapped him heartily on the back and made an example of him in front of the rest of the small away team, Drift, unafraid of anything, ready to go off into the wilds, against all odds, because he was strong enough to come back kicking. He had faith in Drift.

He should have called the ship when the first bot had gone missing, but he didn’t. He was too sure of himself, too proud of Rodimus’s words, and it had left him blind. Payload had just gotten sidetracked, surely, or stopped behind to examine something.

Then they lost Jolt, and Clocker, and then Drift had begun to realize what a bad idea this had been in the first place. Alien planets, hostile atmospheres. Life they had not expected to find. Still, he did not make the call, because he could get them back to the ship. Rodimus could not do much from the Lost Light, he reasoned, not much more than recognize Drift’s incompetence, his older, dirtier values having made him throw caution to the wind because he wanted approval over the safety of his team.

He could get them back to the ship, those that remained. Of that he was sure. He should not have been.

They had seen the fire from several miles away, but they didn’t want to believe it. Drift held them back, went in alone, because he was the strongest of the group and he was better suited for reconnaissance. He never knew what became of the crew he left behind.  

Something hit him so hard and so fast that he was not quite sure it had even happened until the warmth of his own energon began to pool around his feet. He was dazed, but not down by any means. He was stronger than that. There was no where to go, though, no higher ground. No ship. 

There was rustling around him. The alien world’s grass shifted this way and that, blown back by the heat of the fires. Drift crouched low, as low as he could, already slipping in his own fluids as dirt turned to mud. It was coming round again, but he could not pinpoint where from. The wind howled and he lay down on his belly, flattening himself as best he could. 

That was when he made the call. Static screeched loudly into his receptors so he dialed them as low as possible without muting them, still hoping for some voice or sign to return his whispers. 

COME IN

ACCIDENT REPORT

POSSIBLE FATALITIES

LOSS OF TRANSPORT

The line jumped a bit and his spark swirled faster, unable to discern if that was a voice or another brittle crack of white noise. 

IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE REQUIRED

RODIMUS, COME IN

IMMEDIATE

He swallowed thickly.

HELP

I NEED HELP

He broke protocol. He would not forgive himself later, but he could not stop himself now. Rodimus would be so disappointed, even if he said he wasn’t. Even if he was wild and spontaneous and erratic himself. He was and Autobot from the start, a true Autobot, and he did what was right, even if it seemed wrong. Rodimus made mistakes, but not like this. 

RODIMUS, COME GET ME

The fire was eating up the land around him, sweeping in close, and the loss of fuel was making his extremities lose functionality as his core procesor diverted as much power as possible to his life support systems. Another rush of wind in the grass and he knew the creature was returning. 

RODIMUS

He could no longer tell one blade of grass from another, and the wind from his ventilations, from its breath. 

RODIMUS, PLEASE

His communications line cut out, and he was truly alone. 


	6. Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Longarm Prime-Shockwave/Blurr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is slightly NSFW

Nobody else knew him, but Blurr did. Blurr knew him so well. It was sickening, honestly, and during the day, or at night the few times a week he wasn’t there, Blurr would often find himself violently ill just from the desperate need left in the wake of his absence.

 His guards were angry at first, because it was a mess and he had to be removed from his cell for the cleaning staff to come in. He wasn’t labeled as violent but he was a trained Elite and they knew it. He wouldn’t have fought back anyways, though, because there was no point to it. Even if he had somewhere to go, he was safer here, behind bars. 

Cliffjumper had visited him, at first. He began their sessions angry and left them sad, though Blurr could not quite tell why. He only answered with the truth anyways. Longarm had done bad things. He had done bad things and Blurr had watched, Blurr had let him. Blurr had let him do bad things to himself, too, things that still had him waking up squirming and wet.

The new head of Intelligence did not want to hear about that, but Blurr was beginning to doubt he actually wanted to hear about any of it. He visited far less often now. 

It was shortly before one of these visits that he saw Longarm again, only it wasn’t Longarm at all. It was a prison guard, damply smiling at him as he delivered Blurr’s lunch tray, but Blurr knew him. He had told Cliffjumper, of course, but Cliffjumper had only looked at him with dark optics and asked him to please calm down, to get off the table, to allow the doctors to give him a small coding patch so they could proceed with their talk. He always did that when Blurr was trying to tell the truth, and it was starting to really peeve him. 

He only ever wanted to know about the codes anyways. Blurr didn’t know them, though. He knew Longarm had had them once, and exactly what they did, who they would help the Elite Guard find after all these years, probably still alive and hooked up to those horrible machines Shockwave had so liked, but Blurr himself did not know them. Cliffjumper did not seem to believe him though. 

Blurr didn’t tell anyone else about Longarm after that. It took four more meals before Longarm spoke to him. He said “hello”. He was as handsome as Blurr remembered, even if he was not Longarm now. 

After sixteen visits, Blurr said hello back. After fifty eight, he came out from under his berth when Longarm placed his food though the slot. At meeting one hundred and seventy, he crawled up to the polyglass and placed his hands against it, watching Longarm intently. Longarm just smiled and winked. 

"Looking good today, kiddo."

Blurr did not like the new nickname, but he did like the familiarity, and he decided to show his appreciation in a way he knew Shockwave would have liked, even if it would have embarrassed Longarm. 

The other guards did not like that, though, and pounded on the glass with the butts of their rifles until he stopped licking it. Longarm still smiled though. 

Cliffjumper began to get angry again at their meetings. Blurr did not like this because it reminded him of dark things and dead faces and Shockwave did not like him to dwell on those things. He wanted to go back to his cell now, but Cliffjumper would never let him go unless he began talking very loudly and the doctors would restrain him again. He hated them touching him but he needed to see Longarm. 

He was lucky, so lucky. Longarm was there that night, but the other guards weren’t. Blurr had never seen that happen, but it was good because they always got mad at him when he would think of Shockwave. 

This time, he did not wait for Longarm under his berth, but on top of it, and when his kind new face rounded the corner Blurr gave him a show. The other prisoners across the block heard and saw and made lots of noise, but Blurr didn’t care because it wasn’t for them, it was for Longarm, and Longarm was happy. 

When he was done, Longarm picked something up, long and metal, and inserted it into the control panel outside his cell wall. Blurr, panting and giddy, told him many times over how excited he was to see him again, because he had missed Longarm so dearly. 

Longarm asked him if he was ready to leave prison. 

"Yes sir, yes sir, yes sir, yes sir, I am very ready, please, sir, yes sir, please get me out, please come get me out, sir, yeas sir, please!"

Shockwave always gave him what he wanted, and the door slid aside. 


	7. Rich Threat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodimus/Blurr

He knew it was bad when he returned to his flat and found Blurr there, pacing. He had had a key since six stellar cycles prior, but he rarely used it without warning Rodimus first, and it was even rarer to see him this openly agitated. 

"They just don’t get it, Rodimus, they just don’t- they think I’m doing something wrong, they don’t know what but they do and it’s going to drive me insane because they’re wrong, they’re so wrong but what we’re doing is against the law but it isn’t, it isn’t wrong and-!"

"Woah, woah, woah there."

Rodimus marched right up to him and swept him into a hug. Blurr struggled a bit, trying to continue his frantic complaining through Rodimus’s shoulder for a klik, but quickly melted into it. It was when his shaking hands came up to cling to his chest that Rodimus really knew it was bad. 

"What happened?"

Blurr began to babble again and Rodimus pushed his palm over his lips just as quickly, shushing him as gently as he could. 

"Slowly."

When he took his hand away, Blurr was venting hard, clearly disturbed by something and not finding it easy to express coherently. Rodimus sensed his weakness and lead him to the couch, easing them both down together into a pile of limbs as Blurr curled into him. 

"They’re catching on to us," his words stumbled as he focused hard on his speed, "people at work. They don’ know exactly what it is, but they know I’m-I’m hiding something and…"

His words began to quicken again but he stopped himself before tipping into hysteria, swallowing thickly. 

"I don’t want to be thought of that way. I know it sounds stupid but I work so hard, too hard for this, this kind of treatment. i don’t deserve this. I don’t."

Rodimus kissed the top of his head. 

"You don’t."

It did not stop the quakes. 

"There’s something else," Blurr whispered, even quieter than before, and Rodimus really leaned in now because this too was rare and worrying behavior. 

"I’m on close watch, in Intel, very close. I don’t wanna be singled out, I don’t want to lose my job. But I will. If they find out I will and I have nowhere to go if I can’t pay off my loans and-!"

Rodimus kissed him, short but hard. When they parted Blurr shoved his face into Rodimus’s neck, avoiding optical contact. Rodimus pet down his back quietly. 

"You’ve been through worse."

"Exactly," said Blurr, bitter but resigned, "exactly. I don’t want to do it again. I won’t do it again."

Rodimus squeezed him. 

"You have me, now."

"I do, but they’ll get you too. They’ll fire you and then it will be both of us, just stuck out here, with nothing, losing it all together."

He grabbed the sides of Blurr’s face and force him to look up. 

"Don’t listen to them. Don’t you _ever_ listen to them.”

Even in pain, Blurr’s expression was still so controlled and sharp. 

"They’re right, though."

"We will be okay. I promise."

They pressed together and remained hat way a while more, both feeding on each other’s warmth, both hoping the other wouldn’t notice the linger seeds of doubt taking root in their minds. 


	8. Consquence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shockwave/Blurr

He couldn’t believe it. He refused to. 

"You…you killed him!"

Blurr stumbled back away from Shockwave, tripping over his own two feet and falling hard on his aft. He didn’t even try to get up, scooting back against the wall as Shockwave approached him slowly. 

"You killed him for your own, your own purposes! Like you didn’t even care!"

Enormous in the dark room, Shockwave stared down at him. Blurr wanted to be angry, but he could hardly feel anything more than horror. The monitors around him flickered, various rooms of the Fortress Maximus flashing by in black and white, but the main view screen, the largest in the center, still remained frozen on the static image of Highbrow Prime’s lifeless shell. 

"I did not care. It did serve my purpose."

Blurr flinched. 

"How, how could- you weren’t even going to tell me?"

"Of course not. Look at how upset you are."

Shockwave was always so calm, infuriatingly so. He knelt down at Blurr’s side, reaching out to stroke his helm. Dumbly, Blurr let him, still trying to get a grip on reality. 

"If I did not dispose of him, I would not be able to complete my mission. You already know what I am, Blurr, why does this trouble you?"

How could it not? It was horrific, terrible. Shockwave was only just now destroying the tapes, and Blurr had not been meant to see, surely, but it did not at all assuage him. He had never before witnessed death.

"Am I supposed to be happy for you, sir, because that would just be…that is too much to ask…"

He was angry now, or beginning to be. Shockwave continued to pet him. 

"No. But what happened does not change anything. I still aim to protect you. I still aim to have you as my own. My feelings on the matter have never been anything but so."

Despite himself, Blurr was comforted. He was afraid of Shockwave, now more than ever, but he was in too deep to remove himself from the equation. Finally meeting Shockwave’s gaze, Blurr swallowed thickly. 

"So I should just try to forget?"

Shockwave hummed quietly, affectionately, Blurr so small in his hands.

"If that is what it takes."


End file.
